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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24497173">Love Me (Like No One Else Can)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare, Begging, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Humiliation, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Mentioned Voyeurism, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Possessive Behavior, Self-Lubrication, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Verbal Humiliation, Wet &amp; Messy, don't look at me.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:09:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24497173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>See, Martin has… a bit of a thing. It’s not something he thinks about often, and it’s obviously not something he’d thought possible to indulge in realistically, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting it. Or, he’d thought it wasn’t possible. From the way he has to fight to keep his eyes away from the tendrils actively reaching for him, glistening slightly, it’s clear he’s been proven wrong.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Michael | The Distortion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>181</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Love Me (Like No One Else Can)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martin really doesn’t think he should be used to passing through Michael’s hallways, but that’s not stopping him. It’s just easier than getting a cab or using the tube once he gets used to it, and much faster. At least, it is as long he stays with Michael themself, keeping him from getting lost. Probably wouldn’t work out so well if he was on his own. </p><p>Fortunately, he doesn’t have to worry about that, their hand cradled carefully in his own as they take turn after turn. They’re on their way back from a date. It was just getting dinner at a slightly-nice restaurant, nothing fancy or grand, but he just likes getting to spend time with them. It makes… whatever’s between them feel much more real, to sit in an actual restaurant surrounded by other couples, kicking each other under the table and making the other laugh. He thinks Michael likes it too, even if they’re indulging him with the normalcy of it a bit—normalcy doesn’t exactly come easily for them. But they seem to enjoy the novelty of the tiny human rituals, made-up as they are. It’s been a good night.</p><p>Overwhelmed with love for a second, Martin pauses, leaning up and tugging Michael down gently into a kiss, just because he can. They melt into it, hands coming up to brush through his hair, so he melts, too. When he pulls away, it’s only for enough space to breathe, their noses still bumping together. </p><p>“I love you,” he murmurs, letting all his affection spill into his voice, and Michael smiles, resting their foreheads together.</p><p>“I love you too, dear Martin. I hope you had a good time.” Martin delays his answer by kissing them again, and then again, and then just one more time, brushing their lips together lightly. </p><p>“Well, of course I did, I was with you.” He knows it’s painfully cheesy, but he just can’t help himself. It’s worth it for Michael’s look of pleased surprise, and double-worth it when they kiss him once more, deeper. </p><p>He sighs into it, letting them back him up against one of the walls (the buzzing of it is barely noticeable, anymore), feeling the light sting of their teeth against his lip. Letting his mouth fall open, he tugs at the front of their shirt clumsily, pulling them even closer. Their body surrounds him, arms framing him on either side and one leg slotting in between his own comfortably.  </p><p>When Martin opens his eyes, it’s to somewhere new. They’re in a room he’s never seen before, because he’s never seen an actual room in these hallways at all; the walls are lined with winding, mismatched wallpaper, the carpet thick and curling beneath his shoes, the air itself dizzying. When he leans back against the wall again to steady himself, he can almost feel it pushing back against him. </p><p>Michael puts a steadying hand on his shoulder, and the <em> everything </em> passes after about a minute, just a gentle humming at the back of his mind. Martin’s gotten pretty good at adjusting to the Spiral and everything that comes with it from sheer exposure, to the point where his nose has stopped bleeding and his teeth won’t ache, but this is much stronger than he’s felt it in awhile. </p><p>“I’m sorry… I lost focus for a moment. We’re quite far in.” Michael admits, and he brushes it off, assuring them he’s fine. His eyes follow the patterns on the walls, their evershifting colors, winding and twirling inwards—towards him, Martin realizes with a start. The brightest colors and haziest patterns form a halo around his own head when he turns around. He laughs in surprise, placing a hand against the wall, and feels its shifting and humming colors beneath his palm. It’s sort of hard for him to wrap his mind around this being the same thing that Michael is, as is their way, but it’s strangely intimate, seeing all of their being reach for him. When he turns back, Michael actually looks a bit… embarrassed, which he tucks away to cherish later. For now, he guides them back to him, missing their touch. </p><p>They indulge him eagerly, lips finding his neck, kissing gently before just barely digging their teeth into his skin, and Martin lets his eyes fall closed once more, sighing. Their tongue laves with languid ease just behind his ear before they nibble at his earlobe, making him gasp, head falling backwards against the wall in encouragement. </p><p>Then he feels something wrap around his ankle. </p><p>Martin yelps, kicking out wildly to shake it loose, halfway hanging off of Michael to scramble away. A career in the archives leads to pretty strong survival instincts against the unknown, if nothing else. Whatever’s on his leg pulls back immediately, and, when he looks down, he finds something curling and, naturally, kind of bizarre. </p><p>It’s… a sort of tentacle-tendril-thing, maybe, pushing out from the wall, draped in the dozen oil-slick colors and deep, inky lines of the spiralled wallpaper. As Michael sets him back down, he sees that there’s more of them, the smooth, curling shapes beginning to form from the walls and carpet, even the ceiling. There’s a surreal haze about them but they’re definitely real. Strong, even, grasping their way towards him smoothly. When he reaches down and grazes his fingertips against the nearest one, still hesitant, Martin finds the tendril soft and slightly wet, his fingers coming away with a smattering of color. He feels himself start to flush.</p><p>Now that he sees that they’re just part of this place, part of Michael, there’s no fear left in him at all. Especially when he sees the awkward imitation of a blush on Michael’s face, shaped loosely in a spiral, which is pretty adorable. </p><p>“I… apologize, for scaring you.” They try, hands flexing in a nervous rhythm, but the tendrils continue to creep in towards him, if a little slower now. “It might be best if we return to—”</p><p>“No!” Martin cuts them off before he actually manages to think with his brain, then awkwardly backtracks. “I mean, we don’t have to or anything. It’s kind of sweet?” And it is, but that’s not the reason for his insistence. Or the sudden jump in his body temperature, the way his eyes keep flickering back to that slow crawl, the slick something pooling on the carpet around the thick base of the tendrils, why he feels himself just starting to grow hard at the thought. </p><p>See, Martin has… a bit of a thing. It’s not something he thinks about often, and it’s obviously not something he’d thought possible to indulge in realistically, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting it. Or, he’d <em>thought</em> it wasn’t possible. From the way he has to fight to keep his eyes away from the tendrils actively reaching for him, glistening slightly, it’s clear he’s been proven wrong.</p><p>“Really, I don’t mind. Um, but if you want to le—nn!” Martin’s attempts to be very normal about the whole thing are thwarted by a warm-wet tentacle grasping around his ankle again, sending static shooting up his leg, and he trembles, making a noise that’s just a little too close to a moan.</p><p>“Are you…” Michael rushed forward, concerned, before trailing off, and shit shit shit <em> shit </em>. He can feel the way his face is burning, and he’s breathing too fast, and he knows that they’ve seen right through him. They know. The shame twists deliciously through him, and he puts a hand over his mouth, feeling distinctly caught. “Ah. You’re enjoying this.” Their voice has gone quiet and careful, but he can sense the blade just at the edge. Martin’s really not sure how much more of this he can take, with the tendril curling its way up his leg to the bottom of his thigh and them using that voice on him.</p><p>All he can do for a moment is give a shaky nod and an even shakier breath. “Um. Just a little. But it’s, it’s cool if you don’t want to. I don’t know if this would be weird for you?” </p><p>Michael shakes their head, clicking their tongue. “Something as<em> unique </em> as this has never occurred to me, but. But…I would like for you to enjoy yourself. What do you want, darling?” Their voice has dropped fully now, and the pet name makes him go weak in the knees. Well, weaker in the knees. Alright, this is happening, then.</p><p>But Martin doesn’t quite manage to form words, too distracted by the tentacle squeezing slightly around his thigh, so close to his already hard cock, the feeling of others beginning to weave their way across his body. They’re not so much warm as just full of sensation, but it’s intoxicating all the same as they pull him gently to his knees, hands held behind his back by slick tension. </p><p>“Martin. I can’t indulge you if I don’t know what you want, hm?”  Their voice feigns innocence even as all movement stops, leaving him pushing against his restraints desperately, relishing in the way they hold him tight. Their laughter dances circles around him.</p><p>“Ngh, just. My mouth, please?” It’s too hard to think through how badly he want its. And Michael just chuckles again, a little cruel.</p><p>“Of course. I should have guessed; you’re always so desperate for something in your mouth, pet. So…<em> needy </em> already,” they tease, placing a cool, gentle hand on the side of his burning face, and Martin nuzzles into it eagerly, pressing a kiss to their palm. It’s already so much, to have something he’s wanted so desperately with no real hope of getting come true, and it’s all Michael.</p><p>  They kneel down in front of him, watching his prone form so eagerly. Much less gently, he feels their other hand palm his aching cock through his trousers, whining at the sensation and feeling his ears go red with embarrassment even as he pushes into it. “Oh, you <em>poor</em> thing, so worked up so soon. I suppose just the thought of being fucked like this gets you hard and leaking, you couldn’t even hide how badly you wanted it.” They shove at him roughly once more, voice almost mocking, before settling back on their haunches to watch. It’s all Martin can do to bite back a moan, shame curling once more in his gut.</p><p>He gasps at the feeling of another tendril snaking its way across his shoulder and his throat, the tip lapping at the skin of his cheek. It’s bigger than the others he’s seen, tapered, and it is dripping that mess of colors and ink onto his shoulder. His mouth waters. Turning his head to the side, Martin tries to lean forward and take it on his tongue, to taste it like he so badly wants, gasping. But the tendrils around his wrists and thighs constrict just enough to hurt, pulling him back, and he whimpers, cock twitching between his spread legs. If he gets what he wants, it’ll be on their own time. </p><p>The tip presses lightly against his lips, wetting them, before pushing its way inside. It’s rougher now, like Michael knows he wants, plunging into his waiting mouth, muffling his strained moan. His mouth is full of heavy static, wrapping around his tongue and dripping slick. Martin sucks at it eagerly, feeling the drip of it down his chin and tastes its strange sweetness. And Michael just rubs their thumb across his cheek, crooning to him softly.</p><p>“There we are. Need more?” </p><p>He nods as best as he can, wanting whatever it is they’re offering, and their smile widens, dangerous. The tendril in his mouth retreats for a moment, and Martin has just a moment to breathe before it’s pushing back in, deep. It repeats the motion roughly, beginning to fuck his mouth. He moans around it, going pliant, feeling the shifting digit forcing its way deep into his throat. The only sound over the buzzing in his ears is the filthy, wet sounds of his own mouth as the tendril pushes in and out until his jaw is straining, and the tiny, mewling noises it rocks out of him. It should be gross, the whole situation should be, but all he can do is writhe and whine for more. His eyes are watering and he’s held tightly in place, another tentacle wrapping around his waist, holding him steady. </p><p>Even restricted behind his back, his hands are still free enough that he could tap out if he needed, but Martin’s feeling pretty fan-fucking-tastic. He sucks eagerly at the tendril, laving his tongue against the smooth underside, relishing in the gush of wetness that gets him. He drinks it down desperately, feeling almost delirious with it, riding waves of pleasure just from the weight on his tongue.</p><p>“Just look at you, darling. Making such a dreadful mess of yourself because you’re so desperate. How <em> lucky </em> I am, to have a human who’ll be fucked by anything at all and love it. Who’ll cry for something in his mouth. How <em> precious </em>.” Michael pets through his hair, so careful in comparison to the tendril shoving its way down his waiting throat. “Letting me ruin you, getting so wet.” They thumb at a trail of slick dripping down his face, leaking from his between his stuffed lips. And they must see the way that gets his hips to thrust from where he’s held at their mercy, hear him keen, see how he sucks harder on the tendril to taste more of it. Michael hums to themself, considering, then waves a hand idly. </p><p>And the tendril buries itself deep in his throat, forcing his mouth even wider around it, and begins to <em> gush</em>. The liquid is thick, full of muddy-purple colors, and just sweet around the edges of the static. Martin gasps, feeling the tentacle pulse and writhe on his tongue, feels slick overflow out of his mouth, pouring past his lips to drip down his face even as he drinks down as much as he can, suddenly leagues past overwhelmed. His orgasm catches him by surprise, coming in his pants all at once as the tendril keeps spilling down his throat. He cries out weakly around the flood of slick and the twitching of the member deep in his mouth.</p><p>Finally, finally, it retreats as he shakes, sliding out of his mouth with a slick pop, the tendrils around his wrists and ankles loosening, though the one around his waist keeps him steady. </p><p>Michael twists forwards, pressing their forehead against his, ghosting a kiss across Martin’s lips. He tries to return it, feeling a bit too much like jelly to quite manage it, and they chuckle fondly. </p><p>“Want to continue? We can always return later.” Martin heaves a deep breath, thinking it over. </p><p>“Uh, I feel good for more. You?” He rubs some of the tension out of his jaw, knowing it’ll ache later but not particularly concerned. Already, the tendrils are curling around him once more, not necessarily actively doing anything, just touching him. It really is sweet, in a way.</p><p>“Happily,” they purr, kissing him once more. A bonus to dating Michael is that the rules of the world will bend for them without too much effort. He doesn’t think they’ve ever once considered the idea of a refractory period, and that tends to make his body ignore it, too. Martin’s not complaining, instead working to get fully undressed, piling his clothes on the carpet. He’s going to have a hell of a laundry day if the liquid from this place decides to exist in the outside world, but he’s got other things on his mind. </p><p>He tugs Michael in for another kiss, languid, their hands tangling in his hair as he sighs. He feels more tentacles wind their way up his thighs once more, squeezing slightly, and has to work to keep himself still. They kiss him deeper, still gentle, and he relaxes into it once more.</p><p>One tendril curls up to cup his chest and he gasps at the sensation, pushing forward into the touch as it winds its way over his nipple. It’s not as direct as a hand or a mouth, but it’s a constant, slick pressure that has him moaning all the same. With a flick of Michael’s wrist he’s manhandled forward, shoved so his face is pressed against the soft carpet, ass in the air and legs spread. He sucks in a mouthful of air, exposed. One tentacle winds forward to circle around his cock while another presses upwards, circling his entrance. But it just stays there, poking and prodding, and Martin’s held too tightly to thrust back against it, can’t do anything but beg. </p><p>He resists for a moment, too embarrassed, trying to see if they’ll give him what he wants, what he needs, if he’s patient. No such luck; they just laugh from where they’re sat in front of him, entirely unbothered, which just makes him feel even more wrecked.</p><p>“Ngh, Michael, please, just—” he whines, voice needy even to his own ears, and he's not sure if his inability to meet their gaze is from the position he’s been pushed into or the mortification. Even after all this time, saying what he wants is just so much, a vulnerability that never comes easily but that he wants all the same.</p><p>“Please what, darling? I want you to say it. Tell me what you need.” Michael lifts his head with one clawed hand, his neck straining at the angle as they pet across his cheek, and he loves them so much. He does what he’s told.</p><p>“Please, please let it fuck me. I want it so bad, Michael, want it in me, want you to be rough, please, please, please, need it—” he whines, babbling until they shoosh him.</p><p>“Good boy. You’ve done so well. You’ll be taken care of.” They croon, and he keens at the praise, feeling his cock twitch. </p><p>Finally, finally, the tentacle that’s been teasing him, leaving a slick mess around the rim of his hole, pushes in. It goes slowly, whatever’s dripping from it easing the way, and he buries his face in the carpet as Michael laughs above him. </p><p>Even for all his fantasizing about just this, the sensation is still strange, like nothing he’s ever felt before but not at all unpleasant as he steadies his breathing and pushes back against it. And it just keeps going, stretching him until he’s gasping weakly for air, hands fisted in the plush carpet. He just feels so <em> full </em>. Martin gets only half a moment to adjust to that incredible pressure before it's pounding back into him, pace ruthless as he yelps. It’s almost too much, the tendril curling, unrelenting, against his prostate, his face rubbing against the rough carpet, and Michael’s crooning voice above him. </p><p>“My, just <em> look </em> at you. I wonder what your dear… associates would think, to see you like this. On your knees for me, your pretty, pretty mouth still dripping but you need more, just need to be stuffed full.” Martin gasps at the words, his hips trying to push back of their own accord even as it proves them right. “Mmm. Maybe they wouldn’t even be surprised. Maybe they can see how much of a slut you are already.” </p><p>He moans, feeling his cock drip precum, giving himself over to the fantasy, the humiliation and thrill of it. The tendril within him keeps up its relentless pace, rocking him forward with every deep thrust, and it feels like he’ll never have enough. </p><p>“They look at you and speak to you and all the while they know how you beg for me. They would see you, as you are here, and know how well it suits you. They’ll know what you let something like me do to you, and that you love it.” He feels the tendril cupping the swell of his chest tighten and whines, pushing down into it even as he feels his skin grow raw and sensitive. The pain and shame and pleasure all tangle together inside him as he’s fucked, unable to keep the moans from escaping. It’s alright; no one will here him here, in the heart of Michael’s domain.</p><p>“And every avatar knows it too, I don’t doubt that. They’ll meet the little archival assistant, sat beneath the eye but belonging to me in every way. They’ll recognize the marks I’ve left, won’t dare lay a finger on you.”</p><p>“Yes, yes, please, <em> yours </em>,” Martin keens, enthralled. Of course they’d all know, and the thought of every danger seeing exactly how he belongs to Michael sends a thrill right through him. </p><p>“<em>Mine</em>.” Michael snarls, sharp and possessive and perfect as their teeth sink into the junction of his shoulder and neck. The tentacle inside of him shoves itself deep and stays there, twitching wildly as it pumps him full of that same slick, more than he could even think possible. And it’s all too much. Martin comes with a muffled scream, his face still shoved against the floor, feeling his own come join the mess already on his stomach. </p><p>After that, things are hazy for a bit. He’s distantly aware of the tentacles leaving him, unwinding gently, and feels the slick still dripping out of him that they’ve left behind. A weak pulse of arousal curls in his stomach at the sensation. The room curls back into itself as Michael scoops him up into their arms, whispering words he can’t quite understand yet into his hair as they cradle him. They carry him home, the hallways fluttering and changing around them until they’re at a door that opens to his living room. </p><p>When he zones back in, they’re sat in his bathroom, Michael dabbing something cool and soothing against his temple as the tub fills with hot water, though he already feels significantly cleaner and a lot less sticky. There’s a small plate of fruit and cheese balanced precariously on the edge, but he’s sure it won’t fall in. Slowly, Martin becomes aware of the sensations throughout his body, not all of them pleasant: he’s got a patch of rug burn across his forehead and down to his cheek, which is the worst of it; his jaw aches with a familiar strain; and the spot in his shoulder where Michael bit him is bruising, tender to the touch when he rubs the pads of his fingers over it. But he’s also, incredibly, pleasantly fucked out, and, besides, he kind of likes the reminders. </p><p>“How do you feel?” Michael asks, sounding… maybe almost apologetic, and he reaches out, petting through their hair as he slips off the edge of the tub and into the warm water with a sigh. </p><p>“Mostly good. I’d feel better if you got in here with me,” he smiles up at them, watching as they visibly relax. Considering that Michael doesn’t eat, or drink, or even hurt in the way a normal human would, they’ve picked up pretty quickly on how to help him after they do this. He doesn’t doubt that they could simply bend reality and have him clean and healed, but he mentioned once, right at the beginning, that this part helps him feel like a person again, and they’ve diligently gone through it with him since. He loves them so much it almost hurts, even more so as they clamber into the bathtub behind him, an awkward, gangly, beautiful mess of limbs and hair. The tub should not, by any means, be this big, and he’s very sure he never bought any lemon-scented bath-bombs, but neither of them point it out. Instead, he just shuffles so his back is pressed up against their front, their legs slotting easily on either side of his own in the water, resting his head on their collarbone. Or, what’s hypothetically a collarbone, he’s not really sure.</p><p>“I didn’t know you would enjoy that,” they comment, and Martin takes a moment to be thankful he’s way too content to bother with being embarrassed. </p><p>“I didn’t think it mattered. Y’know, not something I thought could actually happen. I think they do make, like, tentacle dildos, but I don’t think I could take those seriously,” Martin notes, laughing at Michael’s bemused expression.</p><p>“Despite all my best efforts, humans continue to… surprise me.” They sigh, shaking their head, and he chuckles, twisting awkwardly to peck them on the lips. Michael wraps their arms snugly around him, humming into it as both of them relax. He is warm and clean and with them, perfectly content. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's MY tentacle fic and I get to choose the genuinely sappy Michael/Martin!!! I'm genuinely not sure what prompted me to write this, but please comment if you enjoyed because it took a lot of hyping myself up to post ngl.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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